


This Bed Is On Fire With Passion And Love

by MeadowHarvest



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Coming Out, Creaky Old Famhouse, Dry Humping, Early Relationship, First Kiss, Hardly A Haunting At All, It's A Very Mild Haunting, M/M, Pre- Grad Night, Pre-Relationship, There's Only One Bed... And It's Haunted, truth telling, wine and cheese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27185120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeadowHarvest/pseuds/MeadowHarvest
Summary: David and his new business partner Patrick go on a vendor visit before the store's opening. A storm takes them by surprise, and circumstances force David and Patrick to spend the night in the original farmhouse on the property. There's a problem, though. There's only one bed... and it's haunted.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 72
Kudos: 207
Collections: Schitt's Creek Trick Or Treat





	This Bed Is On Fire With Passion And Love

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SCTrickOrTreat](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SCTrickOrTreat) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> There's only one bed... and it's haunted.
> 
> \---  
> This prompt is the absolute greatest, and I had a blast writing it. There's Only One Bed is my absolute favorite trope, and I hope you enjoy it! 
> 
> Title from "Laid" by James.

It should’ve been an easy pickup. Edith’s farm is only about an hour away, only three turns total, very easy to navigate to. Patrick’s got a full tank of gas, and David’s got a little sample basket of goodies for Edith, as a thank-you for being one of their biggest suppliers and for putting her trust in them.

The sky is gray when they get in Patrick’s car, but the clouds break a little and David’s thankful he put on some sunscreen before they left. 

“Windows up or down?” asks Patrick as he pulls out of the motel’s parking lot. David shoots him a look and Patrick gives him a naughty little smirk. David wants to kiss it off his face, but he tamps the thought down. His conversation at Stevie’s last week is still way too fresh in his mind. 

“Up is the only answer,” says David. “I can’t meet a vendor all windblown.”

“That’s the worst kind of blown,” says Patrick, and David coughs as Patrick seems to realize what he said. David has to admit the red creeping up Patrick’s face is doing things for him. 

Because David can’t _not_ acknowledge anymore that his feelings for his business partner are way more than a business partner should make him feel. He sighs a little at the recollection of Stevie basically forcing him to admit it. Or did he basically admit it to her? His brain was a little foggy from the vodka. Either way, it’s not like he can do anything about it. He’d promised himself ages ago to not get involved with anyone he worked with. 

He hears Salome’s voice at her gallery, years ago, saying, “Don’t shit where you eat, David.” She had been his mentor, and he’d made a pass at her, because he was 23 and cocky. And though she took him up on the offer, she’d said that to him, her head bobbing between his legs. Things were never quite the same between them. The process had repeated itself several years later at his own gallery, and when his intern Tiago was coming between David’s thighs, he heard Salome’s voice echoing through his head. “Don’t shit where you eat.”

So he’s not shitting where he eats. 

This doesn’t change the fact that he’s acutely aware of Patrick next to him. David didn’t think about the fact that they’d be trapped in the car together with nothing to occupy their hands. It’s easy to chat at the store when they’re putting up shelves or sorting bottles. 

Patrick doesn’t seem to mind the silence; he’s watching the road with a small smile on his face. David wants to lick it.

“I’m excited to see what else Edith has for us,” he says to fill the space. 

“Yeah, it’ll be nice. I haven’t been to many farms. I’m a suburban boy,” says Patrick. David’s relieved to have a venue for asking Patrick questions about his childhood without having to answer a ton about his own weird childhood. (This was another thing Salome had taught him, to ask questions and follow-up questions.)

They’re at Edith’s farm before David even realizes it; he didn’t even get a chance to put on the playlist he’d made for this, not that he wouldn’t have been embarrassed to play it. He’d taken a few guesses as to what kinds of music Patrick might like. Frankly, he’s relieved he didn’t have to try it out. 

Edith is outside her house when they come bumping up the dirt road. David loves everything about her, from her messy dark bun to her long skirt that really screams ‘artist cliche’ but just works. 

She greets them warmly when they climb out of Patrick’s car and seems touched when David gives her the basket.   
  
“I just appreciate what you’re doing so much,” he says.

“Thank you both so much,” she says, beaming at him and Patrick. “Let me show you around the property and then we’ll have a bite!”

She motions toward the barn, and they follow, David skirting puddles in the yard. 

“You going to be OK?” asks Patrick, shooting him a raised eyebrow. David nods and primly adjusts his sweater so it quits riding up over the waistband of his black jeans.

People sometimes think that David would be uncomfortable on a farm, and he kind of is, but he really, really loves seeing where art is created. Plus, he has been on two real farms in his life in addition to about a thousand stables, and this farm doesn’t even have livestock. 

Edith leads them into the barn, and David’s eyes take a moment to adjust. The space is beautiful and so _clean_ , he notices. There are flat tables and drafting tables and there’s paint splattered everywhere, and David loves the aesthetic. He really should get some photos of this place to display with Edith’s gorgeous papercraft. He loves the juxtaposition of art and farm together, registering that there’s old antique farm equipment along the back wall behind the drafting table that’s streaked with paint.   
  
“Gorgeous lines on that harrow,” he says to Edith, and she beams. Patrick raises an eyebrow and looks impressed, which gives David a jolt right through his middle.

“All that equipment has been here since the farm was built in 1881. I love the curve of the metal on the harrow especially,” Edith says, pulling a box closer to her on a table. She lifts out a beautiful hand-stitched journal with an abstractly painted cover. David notices immediately the lines of the harrow in it. He wonders if he could mail it to Miriam, his Amish friend.   
  


“Gorgeous,” he says, and he wants to sniff the paper, run his fingers over the cover, trace the stitching.   
  
“Don’t eat it, David,” says Patrick, and David blushes. 

“I’m not going to eat it, but I _am_ thinking of a dozen ways we can market these. Mother’s Day, the holidays, back to school. We could pair them with Arnold’s twig pencils or Lacey’s calligraphy sets,” David replies.

Patrick looks impressed again. “I stand corrected,” he says.

“Please, keep talking about how you’re going to sell all my stuff and make me rich,” says Edith, grinning widely. 

“We’ll try our best,” Patrick says. “Speaking of selling your stuff, I have the rest of the paperwork here.”

David takes the opportunity to check out completely as Patrick and Edith talk over the paperwork. He wanders the space, looking at how the light shines between the cracks of the barn walls and appreciating how impeccable Edith keeps it. He knew he liked her. 

He peeks out the door, admiring the acreage behind the barn. He never thought he’d get used to open countryside like this, but, well, stranger things have happened. 

He’s looking at a patch of trees (small forest? He doesn’t know the term.) when movement and sound alert him to the fact that Patrick has hefted the box of Edith’s papercraft to his shoulder. David tries not to stare at Patrick’s bicep holding the box, or at the patch of skin at his waist where his sensible button-down has ridden up. 

“I’ll put this in the car,” Patrick says, and David just nods.   
  
“Meet us in the summerhouse when you’re done, and we’ll have wine and charcuterie,” says Edith. 

“Ugh, I knew we came here for a reason,” says David. Everyone chuckles and heads out of the barn. Edith and David head toward her house while Patrick and his muscles go toward his car. 

Edith leads David to a small screened-in structure. She holds open the door for him and he walks in. There are white bistro lights strung up along the roof, and a small table in the center, covered in dishcloths. 

“This is the original summerhouse. It was built before air conditioning existed, and it’s where they used to do all the cooking in summertime, so they wouldn’t heat up the house,” says Edith. 

“I appreciate the screen,” says David, settling into the wicker chair that Edith indicates is for him. She pulls off the dishcloths, revealing a gorgeous charcuterie board and some wine glasses. She’s uncorking a bottle when Patrick joins them.

“This looks great,” he says, sitting next to David. 

“It’s the best I could assemble from the grocery store,” says Edith, pouring them both generous glasses of wine. “I hope red wine’s OK.”

“Perfect,” says David, and Patrick nods. 

“I’m not much of a wine guy, but I like what I’ve had so far,” he says, and Edith smiles. 

“Cheers,” she says, settling back into her own chair and clinking glasses with the two of them. “Feel free to dig in.”

David takes her at her word, and is rewarded with an amazing mouthful of cheese. “Is this a goat gouda?” he asks, once he’s swallowed. 

Edith nods. “That’s the only one I didn’t buy. My friend Heather has a goat farm and makes her own cheese. I’ll give you her card. You should talk to her about carrying her stuff.”

David tries another cheese. “Is this a gruyere?” he asks, and Edith nods again. 

“I actually visited the gruyere cheese factory in Switzerland when I went with my French class the summer before senior year,” says Patrick. “The only thing I remember was a movie called _The Cycle of Cheese_.” 

“I didn’t know you spoke French,” says David. Patrick grins.

“Speak is a strong word,” he says, chuckling. “But I’m your man if you need to say ‘Je veux un Big Mac et pommes frites avec du ketchup et un Coke.’”

David shakes his head. “Nope, nuh-uh. You cannot go to Europe and eat McDonald’s.”

“I don’t know. I was once in Paris and was so homesick that all I wanted was McDonald’s,” chimes in Edith. 

David throws up his hands in mock defeat, mainly because the sparkling grin Patrick is giving him is positively incandescent, and David can’t look right at him. 

“Fine, I give up! Please, visit some of the finest food locations in the universe and eat McDonald’s,” he says. His face hurts from smiling. 

The chatter flows easily into other travel stories, and an hour passes in a blink. David can feel himself growing warm from the wine and conversation, happy that there’s a cool breeze. He tries not to look at Patrick too much, but allows it when Patrick’s talking. The distant rumble of thunder doesn’t even really register when he’s watching Patrick tell a story about a disaster backpacking trip during college.

They’re finishing up the last bits of cheese and salami when the sky explodes into a shattering rainstorm. 

“Oh shit!” yells David, startled, as they all spring up from their chairs. The rain is coming in sideways through the screen and he’s getting soaked.   
  
“Come on to the house!” yells Edith above the noise of the rain. David really doesn’t want to go out there, but he’s certainly not staying here.   
  
“Here,” says Patrick, handing David a dishcloth. It’s not going to help at all, but the gesture is very sweet. David takes a breath and follows Edith out into the storm. 

The wind is unbelievable, and David watches aghast as a dead tree falls right across Edith’s driveway. 

“Fuck! My car!” Patrick yells, running toward the tree, and David doesn’t even think about the fact that Patrick swore, which is very hot, when he sees leaves on top of Patrick’s car.

They all reach the car and see that the tree has missed it. It is, however, blocking the car in, and David’s dreams of a hot shower and dry clothes suddenly evaporate on the spot.

“Come to the house and we’ll figure it out,” calls Edith through the downpour, pointing to the back porch.

David is soaked through by the time they gather onto the back porch, huddling under the awning.  
  
  
“Um, I guess, come inside?” says Edith, opening the back door. Beside David, Patrick stops.   
  
  
“You have cats?” Patrick asks. 

“Yeah, three,” she says, and David can see two of them in the kitchen behind her. 

“I’m really allergic, so I’ll stay out here.” Patrick looks miserable. 

David tries to think of a tactful way to suggest that maybe Patrick can sleep in his car, but he’s relieved when Edith interrupts his train of thought before he says anything.

“This doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon, so I’ll call my boyfriend to come over in the morning with his chainsaw, “ says Edith. “If you two don’t mind, you can stay in the guesthouse tonight. It’s the original house from when the farm was built. It’s not fancy but it’s dry.”

“Oh no, we can’t put you out,” says David. “We can call a Lyft and just… write off the expense.”

“David, we’re not spending a hundred bucks on a Lyft when there’s a perfect solution. And Ray’s not driving tonight, so we couldn’t get one anyway,” says Patrick. “Thank you, Edith. We’ll take the guesthouse.”

“Let me get you some supplies and I’ll walk you over there,” Edith says before disappearing inside her house. 

“Please don’t look at me,” says David. “I probably look like a drowned rat.”

“Not a drowned rat. It’s not that bad. Definitely a drowned possum, though,” says Patrick. 

“Possums are just night rats!” says David indignantly, feeling a little warmth in his core from the teasing. 

“What a sweet nickname,” says Patrick, and David pretends to be disgusted. If he wasn’t completely drenched, he’d love this.

“I’m glad my phone’s still working,” he says, happy that his sweater was thick enough to save the phone. “God, I didn’t realize it was this late. It’s after 8.”

“Aw, is Night Rat a sleepy rat?” asks Patrick in a teasing tone. 

“All right, you can stop the Night Rat thing, thank you so much,” says David, texting Alexis that he wouldn’t be home. 

_!!!!_ she texts back. _Have a fun wet sexy night with your business boy!!_

David can’t exit his texts fast enough, praying that Patrick didn’t see her reply. David can hear Edith clanging around in the kitchen behind them and hopes she comes back out soon. Luckily, she does. 

“Sorry this isn’t ideal, but I don’t have a ton in the house right now,” she says, holding up a reusable grocery bag. She hands David an umbrella. 

“I’m sorry I only have the one umbrella,” she says. 

“Not a problem. David is very generous and loves to share,” says Patrick, moving way too close to David as though he expects that they’ll both actually fit under this small umbrella. 

He tries not to think about Patrick as they follow Edith back into the rain. His shoes are completely fucked by the time they get to the little clapboard house that would probably be super cute if it wasn’t being drenched by a hurricane. 

“Okay, here we are,” Edith says, unlocking the door and ducking inside. David and Patrick follow, and David tries to stay on the mat in front of the door so he doesn’t drench the wood floors. 

“Oh, this is cute,” he says. 

Edith smiles. “Yeah, it hasn’t changed much over the years, but no one’s really lived in it full-time since my house was built in the mid ‘60s. There’s two bedrooms upstairs, too.”

She hands Patrick the grocery bag.

“The bathroom’s that way, and there are clean towels in there. My folks were here a few weeks ago, so I changed the sheets last week. Help yourselves to anything in the fridge or cupboards,” she says. “I can start a fire in the woodstove if you need my help.”

Patrick shakes his head. “I’m a whiz with a woodstove, so we should be good. Thanks again, Edith. David and I appreciate it so much.”

David dies a little at the ‘David and I’ of it all. Patrick gives David a look, and David is alarmed for a second to be on the receiving end of those smouldering eyes. Then he feels dumb because Patrick pointedly glances at the umbrella. 

“Sorry, here you go,” David says, handing Edith the collapsed and dripping umbrella. “Um, and thank you for letting us stay.”  
  
  
“No problem. I’ll see you in the morning. I guess enjoy your getaway?” Edith says as she leaves, pulling the door open and heading back into the rain with a bright smile. 

David and Patrick say their goodbyes but the sound is drowned by the rain. Once the door closes, the sound of the rain disappears, and they’re left staring at each other.   
  


“This is a nice place,” says Patrick, breaking the gaze and looking around. “It’s small but it’s got character.”

David looks around as he slips his shoes off. There are two fat armchairs tucked in front of the window next to them, and the woodstove is on the wall perpendicular, near a steep wooden staircase. There’s a big wooden bed frame that takes up nearly half the room across from the woodstove, and the back wall opens into the kitchen. 

David squelches his way to the kitchen to peek at the bathroom just off of it. The kitchen and bathroom look to have been updated some time in the 60s, but David imagines the main room looks much the same as it did in the 1880s. 

“I’m going to see the upstairs bedrooms,” David says, gingerly climbing the stairs into the darkness. Patrick flicks a light switch, and there’s mercifully electricity up here, even if it’s weak. 

“Fuck,” David says under his breath. Because there are two little bedrooms up here, tucked under the slanted roof, but they’re being used for storage, and there’s not a bed in sight. 

Just the one bed downstairs. 

“Fuck,” he says again. He’s still dripping wet, his hair is completely fucked, as are his shoes, and he can feel his thighs chafing under his wet jeans, so he’s probably going to get diaper rash like a _baby_ , and now he’s facing the next twelve hours with his incredibly attractive, incredibly (probably?) straight business partner, and there’s only one bed. 

“You okay?” Patrick asks from below. David sighs and composes himself as best he can. 

“Yup. Um, the bedrooms do exist, but they’re full of boxes, so it looks like you’re stuck with me down here tonight,” says David, trying to sound nonchalant.

Patrick turns a little bit pink, but then he smirks, which David was not expecting.  
  
“David. Let’s not pretend that you’d have been the one to sleep in a tiny attic bedroom while this bed was down here.”

David huffs, but he’s relieved at the distraction. Patrick seems like he might be a little relieved too, because he looks around. 

“Why don’t you take the first shower, and I’ll get a fire going,” he says, crouching down next to the woodstove where there’s a gorgeous copper tub filled with wood.   
  
“Oh God,” he says, reaching a hand down to balance on the floor. “My jeans got so tight!”

He seems to realize what he said at the same time David does, because David watches a red flush wash over him. David’s dick twitches, the traitor.

He gives Patrick a tiny shred of dignity by pretending he didn’t hear that, and turns to go into the bathroom. His jeans are also tight, mainly from being soaking wet, but also from the erection threatening to solidify. He can’t shut the bathroom door fast enough. 

“Stop,” he whispers to his dick, because there’s nothing he or his dick can do to help the situation at the moment.

He undresses as quickly as he can in the small space, piling his wet clothing on top of the toilet tank. There’s a basket of toiletries on a shelf over the toilet, and he’s relieved to find a handful of toothbrushes in their little packages, along with toothpaste and a bunch of small bottles of shampoo and conditioner. He chooses the least offensive ones and carefully turns on the shower. 

He squeezes into the narrow shower stall, and the water is blessedly warm. It’s not as hot as he’d like it to be, but it’s better than being freezing and wet. He washes his hair quickly and then hesitates only a moment before turning the water off to leave some hot water for Patrick. 

The thought of Patrick showering in here makes David’s dick twitch again, but he ignores it. It’s very easy to ignore it just then, because he realizes he has nothing to change into. 

“Ffffuck,” he says, teeth chattering. There are six towels rolled on the shelves above the toilet, so he figures he can use three without guilt. He really should tell Stevie that it’s actually possible to have more than two towels in one bathroom, but then, he doesn’t want to tell Stevie about this at all, because he’ll never hear the end of it. 

He groans slightly as he slides on his clammy boxer briefs. They’re literally the bare minimum that he can wear. His jeans and sweater are out; they’ll take forever to dry, and he needs to shape his sweater on a flat surface as soon as he can so it’s not completely fucked. His white undershirt is soaked, too, but maybe if he waves it in front of the woodstove it’ll dry. 

He wraps a towel firmly around his waist before wrapping his hair in another and then draping a third over his shoulders like a cape. He gathers his gross bundle of wet clothes and carefully leaves the bathroom. 

Patrick’s eyes widen when he sees David. “I’m so sorry,” he says in a tone that makes David’s stomach drop. “I didn’t realize we’d be dressing for dinner. I wonder if there’s a dinner jacket I can borrow?”

“Ha ha,” says David, acutely relieved that nothing’s wrong, and also acutely aware that he’s standing in front of Patrick, basically on display, swathed in old terrycloth. He swallows and turns back to the kitchen. He does his best to flatten his sweater into shape on the counter and drapes his jeans over a kitchen chair.

He doesn’t turn around when Patrick goes into the bathroom, but as soon as the door closes, he races to the main room and drops his towel to stand in front of the woodstove, basking in the warmth and hopefully drying his underwear so it doesn’t cling so tightly. 

  
He hears the shower turn on, and immediately squeezes his cock, trying not to think of Patrick naked on the other side of the wall. 

He probably doesn’t have time to jerk off, even though he probably should, but he does _not_ need a repeat of that horrible incident when he was 14 that left him red-faced for two weeks and drove his dad to clear his throat repeatedly and utter nonsense platitudes that got increasingly worse like, “It’s perfectly healthy, son, nothing to be embarrassed about” and “I did it all the time when I was your age” and “Just… make sure you don’t get used to a tight grip, son, because that can’t replicate the feel of a woman, you know, or… or a man.” 

He toasts his front and his back for a few moments, getting his briefs dry enough so they’re not gross, and he finger-combs his hair back from his face and hopes it stays. 

By the time Patrick’s shower stops a few minutes later, David’s wrapped in his towels again in the kitchen unpacking the grocery bag Edith left them. There’s another bottle of wine, a box of crackers, some cheese and fruit, plus a couple bagels and coffee supplies for the morning. 

He grabs the bottle of wine and a corkscrew and scampers back out into the main room before Patrick emerges from the bathroom all pink and wrapped in towels. David tries not to look right at his business partner because everything about it is a bad idea. But he can see enough slivers of skin on his stomach and chest and _arms_ to know he wants to touch it all. 

“Edith left us more wine,” he says to stave off any awkwardness.”Want to find glasses?”

Patrick smiles. “Sounds good.”

David uncorks the wine while Patrick roots around in the kitchen, emerging with glasses and the food on a plate. David pours a nice amount into each of the actual wine glasses Patrick has found in the cupboard. 

“Cheers,” Patrick says, clinking his glass to David’s before settling into one of the armchairs. “Here’s to an evening of men sitting around in their underwear, like real men do.” 

_Don’t shit where you eat_ , David thinks to himself and his cock, because all he wants to do unwrap each towel from Patrick’s waist and shoulders like he’s a gift. 

“What would you be doing if you were home right now?” asks Patrick, taking a sip of wine.

David thinks. “Um, home-home? Or motel home?”

Patrick looks uncomfortable, like he forgot there’s a difference. “Either, I guess?”

“Well, if it was before, I’d either be in my apartment in SoHo, trying to figure out where to go out for the night, or else at my parents’ place getting high in the sauna,” David says.

It’s been awhile since he thought about it. “If I was at the motel, I’d probably be fighting with Alexis because she left her textbooks on my bed again, and then my dad would come in and tell us to ‘be chill’ and then me and Alexis would laugh.” 

Patrick smiles. “I don’t know your dad, but that sounds about right,” he says, and David smiles, too.

“Um, do you think it’s weird that the motel is starting to feel like home for me?” he asks before he can stop himself. 

Patrick’s face softens, and something inside David softens too. 

“From what you’ve told me, I think maybe this is the first time your family has been a real family, so that makes sense to me,” Patrick says gently, and David feels a lump in his throat. 

“What about you? What would you be doing tonight? Now? And… before?” he asks, taking a sip of wine to dislodge the lump. 

Patrick grins. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I have a before, too. Um, before I moved to Schitt’s Creek, I’d probably be on the couch watching TV or catching up on work. Now I’d still probably be on the couch watching TV, but with Ray. I rent a room with him.”

“Wait, you live with Ray?” David asks. Patrick nods.

“It’s great, actually. He’s one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. And it’s actually better now that we’re not working together. It was a little hard to separate work time from not-work time when we were just together all day and night. It made it difficult sometimes.”

David wonders if it’s a sign, what Patrick is saying. 

“I get it,” he says, even though he wishes it wasn’t true. He debates bringing up his whole thing with Salome or Tiago, but really doesn’t want to dive into why dating or fucking people you work with is a bad idea. 

And it really is a bad idea, he thinks. What if he and Patrick got together and then broke up? Would the store suffer? He absolutely cannot imagine having to face his parents if his business venture failed, even if they never said _I told you so_. 

Outside, a clap of thunder booms over the house. David shivers a little under his towel cape, even though the room is heating up nicely thanks to the woodstove. 

“It was a dark and stormy night…” says Patrick in a joking tone, but David sees him pulling his own little terrycloth cape tighter, too. David tries to smile, but he hears a creak coming from inside the room and he jumps. 

“It’s just the house settling,” says Patrick, and David is shocked that Patrick isn’t teasing him. 

“I spent a night in a castle in Ireland with this guy I was seeing, and it was just us, and I swear, that castle was haunted because I heard moaning all night. I don’t want a repeat.”

Patrick raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure it was the castle?”

David tries not to blush. “It was not me and it was not Niall, and there was no one else in there!”

Patrick grins and drains his wine glass. “I believe you.”

He pauses. “What’s the coolest place you’ve ever been?”

David looks down into his wine glass. “God, I don’t even know. I’ve been to a lot of places,” he says. “Um, not to brag or anything.”

“Of course,” Patrick says. “How about one really good memory from your travels?”

David smiles. “Um, there was one night where I was in Capetown and this couple that my friends and I hired to tour us around had a braai for us. It was the best barbecue I’ve ever been to, and the food was amazing, and we could watch the sun setting over the mountains, and I just remember being really happy, like full of unbridled joy. I... miss that. I haven’t heard from any of those friends in two years.”

Patrick’s face is soft again, and it makes the lump appear in David’s throat again. “Um, what about you? Good memory from one of your travels?” he says because he doesn’t want to tear up. 

Patrick grins and takes a bite of cheddar. “Oh man. When I was a teenager, we drove to Chicago and my cousin got to come, and then we went to a game at Wrigley Field, and ended up almost catching a fly ball. It was the best.”

David sits up straight. “Wait, your best memory is of not catching a ball? Patrick. That’s really sad.” 

Patrick laughs and also sits up straight. His towel cape slips a little and David can see his chest. “Yeah, there’s no way we were actually close enough to catch it, but it was still so cool. And then we got Chicago-style pizza and went to the aquarium, and it was just a really good day.”

“All right, since there was pizza involved, I’ll concede that it sounds like a nice day,” says David.

"I accept your concession," says Patrick. 

There’s another creak, and a shiver runs up David’s spine. “What if this place is haunted?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“I’m pretty sure we’re fine. Although, neither of us are virgins, so we both might die first,” says Patrick, giving his cocky grin that drives David crazy in every possible way. He has about a dozen follow-up questions that he’s way too chicken to actually ask, and then thunder cracks so loudly that he jumps. 

“How’re you doing?” asks Patrick with a wry smile. David flushes. 

“I’m fine,” he says as haughtily as he can. Patrick nods. 

“How about some tea?” he asks, and David considers it for a moment, feeling his brain gently fogging from the multiple glasses of wine. It’s probably a good idea. He nods. 

Patrick hoists himself off his armchair, and the towel around his waist slips. He catches it and instead of securing it back around his waist, he tosses it on the chair.

He walks to the kitchen and David is so thankful that Patrick can’t see him, because his face feels so hot right now, and he can’t look directly at Patrick’s ass. It would be so rude to be caught looking at his business partner’s tight butt, so he looks at the ceiling instead. 

He hears Patrick opening a cupboard and filling up a pan with water. He decides it would be fine to sneak one little peek at the navy boxer briefs moving confidently around the kitchen, but the second he does, he hears another creak, longer this time. Now the ghost knows he’s a pervert. 

David is concentrating hard on the beams on the ceiling when Patrick returns a few moments later bearing two steaming mugs of tea, handing one to David. It’s hot in his hands and he sets it quickly on the coaster laying on the table between his chair and Patrick’s. 

“What scent is this?” he asks. “Um. Flavor?”

Patrick’s grin is magnetic. “Sleepytime.”

“Trying to get me into bed earlier?” David jokes, and as soon as the words spill out, he regrets all of them. “Just kidding.”

Patrick’s face is pink, but he laughs it off as awkwardly as David does. They’re interrupted by another creak, though, and David shivers again. He takes a few sips of his tea, mainly for something to do. He’s just about to say that the tea isn’t making him sleepy when he watches a yawn split across Patrick’s mouth and immediately feels himself yawn. 

“I guess the tea is working?” he says. 

“Yeah, I’m getting tired. But. This is fun,” Patrick says, looking at David with his big gorgeous eyes. 

David nods. “It is. Yeah.”

“I like learning more about you,” says Patrick, sipping his tea. “They say you can learn a lot about a person when you’re trapped in a cabin with them.”

“Oh, is that what they say?” asks David, smiling and trying not to, because Patrick just said he likes learning more about David. 

Patrick yawns, but he’s smiling and nodding. “I might add more wood to the stove while you brush your teeth,” he says, hoisting himself off the armchair, thighs on full display. 

David drains the dregs of his tea and rises from his chair. His waist towel is loose, so he figures he might as well get it over with, and he lets it fall onto the chair. There’s another quiet creak, and he loses his nerve, scampering to the bathroom. 

He breathes heavily once he’s safe in the bathroom. He goes through a highly truncated version of his evening routine,trying not to think about Patrick and their conversation. He's out of the bathroom far too soon. 

Patrick is standing next to the stove, which is burning more warmly now. He’s looking up at the ceiling beams, and for one wild moment, David wonders if Patrick was worried about getting caught looking at his business partner’s ass. It doesn’t matter, though, he tells himself. Because it would be a very bad idea. 

Patrick passes David, grabbing his now-dry undershirt. He stops, though, in the doorway to the kitchen. “David? Can I ask you something?” he asks, no trace of a joke in his voice. David feels his stomach drop to his knees. He nods. 

“Would you go back to before? If you got all your money back?” Patrick asks. 

David doesn’t know what to say. 

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “I mean, I’m not going to lie, it’s really, really nice to have money for things.”

Patrick nods, and David feels like he’s betraying him. He continues, “But. I’m really proud of what I’m doing here? What we’re doing here? So I don’t know. But I really want this store to succeed.” 

Patrick smiles an open, comforting smile. “I do, too. And I get where you’re coming from. It’s a hard question to answer.”

David nods around the lump in his throat. He’s full of feelings right now, and before he can stop and ponder whether it’s a good idea, he bursts out, “Can I ask you something?” 

Patrick nods. 

“Um. What are your preferences?”

He regrets it as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Patrick looks a little thunderstruck but laughs weakly. 

“Hmm. Coke over Pepsi. Vanilla over chocolate. Baseball over hockey,” he says, and he’s laughing, but David detects a hint of worry in his eyes, and he hates himself for even bringing it up. 

“Ah, yes, so I can cancel the order for a chocolate Pepsi hockey bat,” he says to help Patrick save face. And he _knows_ it’s not called a hockey bat, but he can’t remember if it’s a stick or a mallet or whatever, and he figures he can let Patrick have some fun with that.

“David. Hockey bat. Really.” he says, shaking his head and turning to the bathroom. 

Once the door closes behind him, David exhales. “Fuck,” he whispers. He hears a creak. “I’m not an asshole,” he whispers to the ghost. “Okay, I am but I’m not that much of an asshole.”

“David?” he hears Patrick say, and turns to see him leaning out of the bathroom, toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. “Did you say something?”

“I was, um, talking to the ghost.”

Patrick smiles around his toothbrush and disappears back into the bathroom, and David hates how domestic that little moment felt. How is he supposed to get through the rest of the night?

He pulls on his dry t-shirt and pulls back the covers from one side of the bed. Jesus, this bed is not large. But if Alexis can spend a whole night locked in a trunk in Iowa, he can spend one night in a bed with his business partner. 

He probably should apologize to Patrick for asking such a personal question. It’s not fair to Patrick to have to answer. But maybe it’s better to not say anything and just let it go? 

His mulling makes the time pass way too quickly, and Patrick is back from the bathroom. 

“Do you have a side that you... like better?” asks David, willing himself not to say _prefer_.

Patrick looks surprised. “No, I’m fine with either.” 

He turns off the kitchen light and crosses to the lamp between the armchairs. The room plunges into darkness, and David’s eyes take a moment to adjust. Patrick comes around to the other side of the bed as David lifts the sheets and quilt, sliding into bed. It’s comfortable, more comfortable than his bed in the motel, but he still feels tense as he lies back onto his pillow. 

He feels the mattress sink down as Patrick gets in bed beside him. “Goodnight, Patrick,” he says, but it comes out closer to a whisper. 

“Goodnight, David,” he hears from beside him. He turns on his side away from Patrick, trying to leave as much space between them as he can. His eyes are feeling heavy and the constant sound of the rain outside is the perfect kind of white noise that will lull him to sleep. 

“ _Men_.”

It’s barely a whisper, but David hears it. “What?” he asks, wanting to make sure he heard it correctly.   
  
He hears Patrick clear his throat. “Men,” he says a little more clearly but still quietly. “You asked about my preferences and I chickened out answering, but, uh, I prefer men.”

David can hear the little stumbles in Patrick’s voice, as though he’s trying out these words for the first time. David turns over to face him. Patrick is still on his back, looking at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked that. It’s none of my business,” says David in a soft voice. “But thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

“You’re actually the first person I’ve told,” says Patrick, still not looking at David. “I kind of just figured it out recently. I’ve never actually said it out loud.”

“Oh,” says David, not really knowing what to say. “Um, I’m glad you felt comfortable enough to say it.”

“Yeah, me too. It… feels really good to say it out loud, that I’m gay.”

David can hear a lilt in Patrick’s voice and knows without looking at him that he’s smiling. David wants to smile too, but there’s a lump in his throat and he hates himself for it, because now he can’t ever tell Patrick how he feels. How predatory would it be if Patrick peeks his little head out of the closet and David makes a move? It’s not a good look. 

They’re silent for a moment, and then Patrick laughs. 

“This is such a weird night,” David hears him say, and luckily David lets out a chuckle and not a sob. 

“This isn’t even in my top 10 weird nights, so…” he says, and he feels Patrick laugh harder beside him, because the bed shakes a little. But then it keeps shaking. 

“My god, I’m not that funny,” he says to Patrick. “You can stop laughing. You’re shaking the bed.”

“I’m not moving,” Patrick says. 

David feels a prickle go up his spine. “Then why’s the bed moving?” 

“I don’t know, I figured you were shaking it,” says Patrick and David exhales.   
  
“It’s not me!” 

“It’s probably the storm or the house settling,” says Patrick, but David is not convinced. 

“I don’t like this, Patrick,” he says. 

“Well, we can’t do much about it right now, “ says Patrick, “Just pretend it’s white noise.”

“White noise that shakes the bed?” 

“I don’t know, David, I’m just trying to make the best of it.”

David turns over again so he’s facing away from Patrick. “This feels like a cheap motel” he says loudly, and Patrick laughs. 

The shaking stops. David is surprised and relieved, but completely unprepared for the mattress to suddenly sag deeply in the middle, causing him to slide right into Patrick, who’s sliding from the other direction.

“What the fuck?” David asks, trying to pull himself to the edge of the bed and failing, sliding right back into Patrick, his back pressed against Patrick’s front. 

“Probably a support slat from under the bed fell out. I’ll check,” says Patrick, right in David’s ear, and though David is a little freaked out, he can’t help noticing how good Patrick’s breath feels on him. God, he’s such a perv. 

Patrick tries to sit up and puts a hand on David’s hip for leverage as he climbs out of the bed. David is supremely thankful that it's dark so Patrick can’t see how flushed David is, judging from the heat blooming on his cheeks. 

Patrick kneels down to look under the bed. “I don’t see anything wrong.”

David’s heart is thumping. “Just get back up here. I don’t like this.” 

He feels Patrick climb back on the bed, lowering himself gently to spoon David again. “It’s okay,” Patrick says in his ear. “Let me just turn over and we can try to sleep again.”

David takes a couple of deep breaths to calm his racing heart as he feels Patrick turn over, feeling the knobs of Patrick’s spine against his own, and feeling Patrick’s ass cushioned against his own. He exhales. 

He’s concentrating on his breathing when all at once, the mattress dips further, the shaking starts again, and the wooden headboard slams against the wall with a loud crack.

“No no no no no no,” David cries, leaping out of the bed before he even realizes what he’s doing. “Patrick, I can't do this, it’s too much!”

Adrenaline courses through him, and he paces, shaking his hands. “I don’t want to be here! I was on an episode of MTV’s Fear and it fucked me up on scary things, and I’m sorry!” 

Then Patrick is right beside him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m right here,” Patrick says, and David whirls to face him. 

“Patrick, we need to leave, and I’m really scared, I’m sorry I…”

David can’t finish what he was going to say because Patrick’s arms are around him and Patrick is kissing him and kissing him and David is kissing him back. 

David pulls back. “I’m so sorry!” he gasps.

Patrick’s eyes are luminous and unsure in the little light there is. “What are you sorry for? I kissed you,” he says, arms still around David, holding him steady. 

David nods, his heart still racing. “I know, but I made you do it!” he says, scared that it’s true.

Patrick laughs. “David, do you think you tricked me into kissing you?”

Now David feels foolish, but he nods, just a little nod. He knows it sounds irrational, and he doesn’t want it to be true. 

He feels Patrick’s arms tightening around his middle. “David, you didn’t trick me. You’re not that powerful. You were scared and I got carried away.”

David doesn’t know what to say to that. Patrick is basically saying it was an accident?

Patrick must realize what he said because his face blanches. “That came out wrong. I got carried away because I wanted to do that.”

“Really?” David can’t help asking. 

Patrick nods. “It’s the truth. I was too chicken to do it earlier, but David, I’ve been trying not to kiss you all night.”

David can feel the heat radiating off of Patrick’s face. 

“Me too,” says David softly, meeting Patrick’s gaze. He almost has to look away because Patrick looks so earnest and so open. “I just… you just came out and I don’t want to take advantage of you. But… I liked you before I knew.”

He’s never been so honest.

“I liked you before I knew, too,” says Patrick softly and carefully. David could fall in love right now. Maybe he is. 

“We work together. I didn’t want to be gross and try to seduce you. It wouldn’t be a great move.”

He feels better saying it, even though it’s now out in the open. He’s not prepared, though, for Patrick to lean in and whisper into his ear, “But what if I want to be seduced, David?”

That’s enough for David and for the ghost, apparently, because the bed squeaks very loudly, but David doesn’t even care anymore. He grasps Patrick’s face in his hands and kisses those gorgeous lips. It’s just as good as the first kiss; better, even, because now he knows Patrick wants this. And oh, does David _want_. 

He can’t help the moan that escapes from his mouth into Patrick’s as he gently bites at Patrick’s lower lip. He’s rewarded with a matching moan as Patrick’s arms tighten around David’s waist, pulling their bodies flush. David thrills at the firm press of Patrick’s chest against his before registering that Patrick is hard as a _rock_ and is pressing himself into David’s groin. 

“Fuck, Patrick,” he says into Patrick’s mouth before he can help himself.   
  
“Mm, yes, please,” Patrick responds, now kissing down David’s neck. Sweet Jesus. 

Now David’s conscience kicks in, taking a breather from reveling in the feel of Patrick’s cock against his. “Patrick…” he says, and it comes out way breathier than he intended. “Is this okay?”

He feels Patrick exhale on his neck and _god_ , does it do something to him. “This is more than okay,” Patrick says into his ear. “David. This is the first time in my life that it feels _right_.”

That’s all David needs to hear, and he starts guiding Patrick back toward the bed, not even caring that the bed could collapse or eat them up or whatever the pervy ghost wants to do. He’s only thinking about Patrick and the feel of his body and the taste of his mouth.

He gently pushes Patrick back onto the mattress, thinking they can make a nice nest in the hollow, and he’s surprised to feel the mattress is back to normal. He’s too keyed up to think about the ghost and how much he hates being watched except in very specific threesome situations. 

Patrick is gorgeous against the pillow, and David marvels at the whole situation as he lowers himself on top of him. Patrick groans, and it sends a zing right to David’s dick. 

Their mouths meet again and then it’s lips and teeth and tongues and moans, and David has never felt like this before. He runs a hand up Patrick’s side and Patrick clutches at his back. David groans every time he feels Patrick pressing his cock against him, and as their breathing grows heavier and faster, he feels Patrick moving with a rhythm, grinding with a purpose, and that sends David reeling. Patrick pulls his mouth away from David’s to keen, “David, I’m…” 

He can’t finish his sentence before his face takes on a look of utter joy and disbelief and pleasure as he comes and comes, jerking his hips up into David. “Patrick,” he groans as he follows Patrick over the edge, coming faster and harder than he has in a very long time. 

His underwear is fucked, but he forgets that the minute he sees Patrick’s face. “What?” David asks, alarmed at the look. He can’t quite tell if it’s good or bad. 

“I just… you’re gorgeous when you come,” says Patrick, and even in the dark, David can see how red his face is. 

“So are you,” says David, nestling down next to him. Usually right now he’d be having post-orgasm regrets or worries, but he doesn’t feel anything beyond pure joy and satisfaction at the look of contentment on Patrick’s face. 

“Thank you, David,” whispers Patrick. “I never knew it could be like that.” 

David has to kiss him, partly because he looks so sweet, and partly so he won’t cry at the earnestness. 

“How about you give me your underwear?” asks David.

“I thought you weren’t trying to perv on me?” says Patrick, a teasing lilt in his voice. David wants to cry again. If they can have sex and still joke around, he doesn’t know how he’ll be able to handle it.

“Unless you want to either go commando or walk around with dried come stuck to you, let me have them now so I can wash them,” says David. 

Patrick blushes. It takes David a second to realize he might be embarrassed to get naked, so David heaves himself off the bed as smoothly as he can and walks to the bathroom. He wets a washcloth, waiting for the water to run warm first, and carries it back to Patrick, who’s under the covers and holding a ball of underwear.   
  
“Trade you,” David says, handing Patrick the cloth and taking the underwear. Patrick smiles and David can’t help smile back. 

Back in the bathroom, he strips off his own boxer briefs and scrubs both pairs in the sink, arranging them over the towel rack to dry before he cleans himself up. He takes a moment to look at himself in the mirror. He looks wrecked and disheveled and so happy. He smiles at himself before he leaves.

He carefully makes his way back to the bed. Patrick is curled up and facing the middle of the bed, and David sees his eyes widen slightly as David climbs into the bed, naked.   
  
“Is this all right?” he whispers, and Patrick nods. 

“This is very all right,” he says, and David wants to kiss him. So he does. 

Patrick’s lips are still so soft and his cheeks are so warm. David shivers a little, both from the chill of being out in the room and from something else he won’t let himself name yet. 

“Can I spoon you?” asks David, and Patrick nods, pressing a small kiss to the corner of David’s mouth. He turns over and slides into David, fitting perfectly. David wraps his arms around Patrick and pulls him to his chest, pulling the covers up to their chins. 

He’s so tired and sated, and the last things he registers before drifting off are a sigh from Patrick that sounds like pure joy, and the feeling of the bed rocking them gently to sleep. 

*

David wakes the next morning to the faint sounds of a chainsaw, but he’s so comfortable that he doesn’t want to open his eyes. He and Patrick are still tangled up in each other, each with an impressive case of morning wood, David registers. Patrick looks like he’s waking up too, and he gives David a shy smile when their eyes meet. 

“Hi,” says David, not even caring about his morning breath. Patrick grins then. “Hi,” he says. 

“We should probably get up,” says David, hating it. He should tell Patrick that it’s okay if last night was just a one-time thing, but the words stick in his throat. 

Patrick nods and sits up, letting cold air under the covers. “David, I need you to know that this could just be for one night, but also I need you to know that I really, really want it to be more than just one night.” 

He’s flushed, like it took a lot out of him to say that. David sits up and reaches for Patrick’s face. He pulls him in for a kiss, morning breath be damned, and says, “I really want that, too.”

“Okay then, we know where we stand,” says Patrick softly. David smiles. 

Shivering, Patrick gets out of bed and dashes to the bathroom, David admiring his cute butt the whole way there. He returns shortly, dressed. He tosses David’s clothes to him, and David pulls his underwear and undershirt on beneath the covers, more to keep out the chill than any sense of modesty. 

He groans when he gets out to put his pants and sweater on. “I like when you make that sound,” says Patrick. “I want to make you moan again.”

“Somebody’s feeling bold,” says David, and Patrick’s cocky grin appears. 

“You’d feel bold too, if you just told the guy you like that you had feelings for him, and then he accidentally gave you the best orgasm of your life.”

David smiles. “Then… I guess we can say I feel bold.”

He watches his words register on Patrick’s face. The slow, sweet smile he’s grown to love spreads across it. 

“We should clean up before we get distracted,” says David. “I don’t want to leave dirty sheets for Edith.” 

“Good call,” says Patrick, and he heads to the kitchen as David starts to strip the bed, a chore he’s gotten really good at. He’s grabbing one corner by the headboard that’s stuck when he sees something carved into the wood of the headboard, down past the mattress. 

_To Samuel From His Beloved Lawrence_

David smiles. Patrick comes out of the kitchen then with the bag of supplies Edith had packed for them and the stack of towels they used. David gathers the messy sheets up into a ball as Patrick opens the door, where they can see in the distance that Edith and her boyfriend are nearly done cutting the tree blocking them in. 

“I wish we could stay,” David says before realizing he’s speaking aloud. Patrick nods. He leans in and kisses David chastely. “We’re going to have many more nights like that, David,” he says, and they both startle slightly as the bed frame gives a loud creak. 

“I told you there was a ghost,” says David.

“Well, thank you, ghost, for your help,” says Patrick loudly. 

  
“That’s not sarcasm!” David adds helpfully as he pulls the door shut.

They drop off their armloads on Edith’s back porch before walking down the driveway. 

“This looks great,” calls Patrick, and Edith introduces them to her boyfriend, Darren.   
  
“One more cut and you’re good to go,” he says.

David turns to Edith. “Thank you so much,” he says, and Edith smiles. 

“Was the house okay? It can get a little drafty and creaky.” 

“It was perfect,” says David.

“Yeah, it was a great night,” says Patrick, and David could swear he saw a shadow of a wink. 

“Well, come again sometime,” says Edith as they get into Patrick’s car. 

“We will absolutely come again,” says Patrick, and David honestly can’t tell if Patrick is being a little shit, or if he’s sincere. Then he realizes that it’s Patrick and so probably both. 

Edith and Darren wave goodbye as they pull out of the driveway. 

In the car, David reaches for Patrick’s hand as they head down the road, toward Schitt’s Creek and their future. 

  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  



End file.
